


Midnights and Morning Afters

by TwiceALady



Series: Hansanna for the Holidays [6]
Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Attraction, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Hangover, Implied Sexual Content, Mild Language, One Night Stands, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:49:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28091178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwiceALady/pseuds/TwiceALady
Summary: Modern AU Hansanna. After getting accidentally locked out of her sister’s swanky New Year’s Eve party, Hans helps Anna get home safely, but when the morning arrives and Hans is not where he’s supposed to be, the two have to admit that something happened between them last night, and that maybe it’s a good thing. An alternate look at last year’s ‘Starting The New Year With A Bang’, this time the events are from Hans’s POV.Written for Hansanna for the Holidays 2020 Day 7: Kiss Me At Midnight - New Year's
Relationships: Anna/Hans (Disney)
Series: Hansanna for the Holidays [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827499
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	Midnights and Morning Afters

Her voice had gone higher as she argued with the bouncer.

_“What do you mean you can’t let me back in?”_

She stamped her foot on the neatly shoveled walkway. Little gold strappy heels that accentuated her ankles to perfection clicked against the concrete, the sound echoing into his brain—completely inappropriate shoes for the weather. She was so stupid that way that he had to stifle a laugh. She looked like a goddamned idiot. What was she even doing out here in that tiny black number with no jacket on anyway?

She was going to freeze, that was what. Probably catch pneumonia.

_Not your problem though._

Anna had not been ‘his problem’ in that way for a few years now. She was still definitely his problem in the professional sense, the bane of his existence, really. The reason his exhibit now existed at the back of the gallery where hardly anyone ever ventured. And the reason it continued to stay there. Anna outbid him, out juried him every goddamned year, winning her sister the prime location of the gallery incessantly. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Elsa didn’t need all the damn space for her sculptures, if she could just share the limelight with the rest of the gallery’s occupants—

He blew out a breath of pent up air. No sense in getting worked up over it now. It was the party that had soured his mood, made him surly to begin with. It always did. He hated _‘Elsa’s New Year’s Eve Parties’_ titled as if she was the one behind all the organizing and planning and not, in fact, the gallery. _As if she needed anymore publicity._ He hated attending, but knowing if he didn’t, he could jeopardize his own career. He never stayed long. Always made an appearance, put on a smile, mingled, drank glass after glass of champagne to make the evening bearable. _Eugh._ It was the same thing every year. Posturing and playing nice.

He was finally free from the circus, his cab about to arrive any minute now—and Anna was outside making a scene at the door. He should just flash the guy his invitation and escort her back inside, but then judging by the other people eyeing the taxi lane, he risked losing his cab, and he did not want to have to wait another good half hour in that miserable party for another one. Besides, Anna’s problem wasn’t his problem. It wasn’t like they were even friends for Christ’s sake. Bitter rivals, more like. They _loathed_ one another.

“You know what? _Fine!_ ” she snapped, her voice ringing loud in the air. “I don’t want to go back into that stupid party anyway!”

Hans watched as she marched away from the bouncer, those little gold heels clicking angrily in his direction and it took his brain a moment to register that she was coming over to where he was standing.

_Don’t talk to her. Don’t acknowledge her._

He took out his phone and checked the time. His cab would be here any minute to save him from this ordeal. _Any minute now…_

She wobbled as she stopped about a meter away from him, teetering on those completely inappropriate shoes as she took her phone out of her clutch and dialled a number. Hans used her distraction as an opportunity to take another step back, away from her. She hadn’t noticed him yet, _and God,_ he did not want her too.

“Fuck, Elsa!” she seethed under her breath. “Pick up!” She gave a growl of annoyance before jabbing her fingers over the screen, dialling another number. She was hunching herself up now, trying to keep warm, her free arm hugged around her body. Her teeth chattered. This close up he wasn’t even sure she was wearing nylons. She was going to end up getting sick.

Hans felt immensely guilty trying to ignore her. As if on cue, he could hear the music playing from inside the party. The Reindeer Kings were playing their cover of the old classic, and Kristoff and Honeymaren’s crooning voices carried outside,

 _‘There's bound to be talk tomorrow (Think of my life long sorrow!)_ _  
At least there will be plenty implied (If you caught pneumonia and died!)  
I really can't stay (Get over that old out)  
Baby it's cold  
Baby it's cold outside!’_

He glanced at the time again and was inevitably going to regret this, but…

“Here,” he said unbuttoning his coat, “you can use this until you get back inside.” He handed her his wool coat, and to his surprise, she took it gratefully. He began to fish in his pants’ pocket for his invitation.

“Thanks, Hans.”

His hand stilled. The way she softly said his name made his cheeks flush. She never said his name anymore like he was a person, it was always said like an insult. Like _‘Hans’_ was the vilest word she could think of. He hadn’t heard his name on her lips spoken this tenderly since…

A small lump formed in his throat. _Since we snuck into the arboretum and made out._

God, that had been years ago. Before they’d learned they were actually adversaries.

She had to be drunk as hell to ever say his name like _that_ , and he already knew he’d had enough champagne to sink easily into sentimentality over it.

_Maybe she’ll remember this in the morning, and you won’t be The Worst anymore._

The flash of headlights pulling up in the taxi lane broke his train of thought and caught his attention. The cab pulled up beside him.

“ _Shit_ …sorry, this is my cab.”

Anna only stared at him, the dim realization that he was going to take his coat back and abandon her out here slowly shifted over her features. “Oh. Okay.”

Hans stood there, frozen in place. She looked _so_ forlorn.

“Unless you, I dunno…wanted to…” — _No! What are you doing? You don’t even like Anna! You haven’t cared about what she’s thought of you in years—_ “Share a cab?”

She smiled at him.

“Yeah. I just want to go home anyways. I don’t know if you noticed, but this night has kinda been a disaster for me.”

He nodded, not sure what to say. “Yeah.”

They climbed into the back of the cab together and she gave her address to the driver. They sat in silence, listening to the radio, and Anna sighing heavily as she stared out her window.

She became agitated when the radio DJ began the countdown to midnight. Anna quickly turned towards him, as if contemplating something very important. Her eyes bore into his, a mixture of panic, desperation, and then, Devil may care. He had no idea what was going on or what was happening—until she pressed her lips tightly against his, kazoos and noise makers whirling off on the radio as the DJ shouted, _“Happy New Year!”_

He didn’t know how long they’d kissed. Longer than what a simple, obligatory New Year’s kiss should have been. When she finally pulled her lips from his, she licked hers as though she were savouring the taste of him. A bolt of unexpected excitement coursed through him.

 _“Mmmm,”_ she sighed, happily. “That was nice.”

Before he could even blink, she was nuzzling up to him like a kitten, weaseling her way into the crook of his arm, and he let her, stunned and aroused, his trousers snugger in the crotch than they had been before the kiss.

She fumbled in her purse, pulling out her phone. “New Year’s selfie!” She giggled, and there was her camera going off. He had no idea what he looked like, only that Anna was satisfied with the photo and was already posting it online. Then the taxi was pulling up to an apartment complex, and Anna was quickly undoing her seatbelt.

His world was spinning madly by then, everything happening in a blur. Her leaving the cab, stumbling and giggling, still in his coat…him rushing after her before she fell…to get his coat back…the cabbie calling to him, _“Hey, buddy! You gotta pay!”_

He apologized and handed over his card, one eye still on Anna who was now laughing like mad as she slipped and slid everywhere. The cabbie handed him back his card and Hans took it, exchanging hurried _‘Happy New Years’_ before reaching out to steady Anna in his arms so she wouldn’t biff it on the sidewalk.

When he turned to get back into the cab, it was gone.

In a matter of minutes, he’d been stranded. He stared, dumbfounded at the empty street. _How could the driver have just taken off?_ He and Anna weren’t together! They were only sharing a ride!

He dialled another taxi, dismayed that now that it was after midnight, the wait time had gone up to an hour or more. God, he wouldn’t get home until well after one or even two in the morning at this rate.

“You can wait in my apartment,” Anna offered, teetering back and forth, that wild grin still on her face. At least _her_ mood had improved. “I’ve got a brand-new bottle of peppermint schnapps, and I don’t want to brag, but I make a pretty mean peppermint patty. Polar bears too!”

Hans shrugged. “Sure. Why not?” No harm in a few festive shots. He’d be in from the cold, and it wasn’t like he had anything better to do while he waited.

  


* * *

  


He moaned softly, not ready to wake up. The shoulder he’d be sleeping on was numb, pins and needles settling in down his arm. Jesus, he was stiff. He rolled onto his back, his head absolutely pounding, giving him a pretty good idea just how much he’d actually drunk last night.

 _God,_ he was never this hungover. Everything on his body hurt. He rubbed his hands over his face in an attempt to rouse himself properly, finally opening his eyes to see…pink?

_So much pink._

Pink walls. Pink curtains. Pink lamp shade. Even the pillows he was lying on were pink. It was like a cotton candy machine had exploded in this room, and yet it was still surprisingly chic. A giant plush cat with bright pink fur and large green eyes stared smugly at him from a chair across the room.

 _“What the—”_ His head throbbed, the headache making it hard to think straight. “This isn’t my _—”_ He paused, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings while trying to recall where he was and how he got here. The memory of last night slowly sketching out a picture in his mind.

Oh _shit._

He was _not_ still at her place…was he? He was supposed to have gotten his cab and gone home. He was supposed to be waking up in his own room, not crashing at Anna’s. _Ugh._ How humiliating to have to be put up for the night—

A throat cleared behind him. _Her_ throat. He slowly turned towards the sound. Unease settling in. _Why_ did she sound so close to him?

He saw her, and felt his eyes widen in shock, felt his stomach churn—not from seeing her, no. He _expected_ to see Anna, this was her house—

She was wearing his shirt.

Oh _no._

 _And,_ she was in bed with him.

_No, no, no, no, no._

The look on her face already told him all he needed to know about what she thought of that. At least the feeling was mutual.

He had not slept with Anna. There was no way he would have slept with Anna. He couldn’t have. She wouldn’t have. He hated Anna. Anna hated him. There was no way they would ever end up in a bed together. There just wasn’t. That ship had long since sailed _ages_ ago. There had to be some other explanation.

_Just calm down, let’s try and figure this out._

“Why am I still here?” he asked. It was the best place to start unravelling the hazy events of last night.

“Why are you here in the first place?” she snarked back, being the least co-operative person in the world. He so did not need this. She was acting like this was all his fault, like she hadn’t been party to any of it. Like it wasn’t actually her fault he’d ended up here in the first place. _Ugh._ This was exactly why he should have just ignored her last night and just gotten into his cab and gone straight home.

_You try to do something nice…_

“Well, that’s a fine ‘ _thanks for helping me, Hans_ ’, if I ever heard one,” he muttered. He needed to leave, like _now_. _Fuck,_ was he naked? He lifted the sheets up a bit to check, and gave an exasperated snort. _Yup._ Of course. Of fucking course he was. Still…that didn’t necessarily mean that he had banged Anna.

“Pretty sure you got a ‘ _you’re welcome_ ’ last night,” she retorted back, practically dripping in venom.

He scowled. As if _she_ hadn’t been the one to kiss _him_ in the cab. Definitely time to get the fuck out of here. He was done with this shit. Waking up with her accusing him of being The Worst yet again was not how he’d envisioned his first day of a brand-new year. No need to start a precedent.

“Look,” he stated, trying to keep his voice steady as he threw back the blankets and swung his legs over the side of the bed, “just because I’m in your bed, sore as fuck and apparently without my clothes, doesn’t mean we— _Eugh!_ ” He jerked backwards in horror after encountering the coldest, slimiest _something_ on the floor, squishing on the ball of his foot and in between his toes.

_Ew! Ew! Ewwww!_

He leaned over the bed and inwardly groaned at the object, recognizing it instantly. His argument now moot. _Fuck._ He bent over in defeat to retrieve it. A used condom. He held it up so Anna could see.

“Never mind.” He heaved a sigh. Proof they’d had sex. _Great. Just Great._

He just wanted to go home and pretend this whole thing had never happened. _Why did it have to be Anna?_ Of all the women he could have gone home with accidentally, why did it have to be her? _You finally break your dry spell and…_

“God…where are the rest of my clothes?”

But Anna was not so keen to be helpful. She completely disregarded his perfectly valid question, because that was Anna. He curbed the urge to roll his eyes. Nothing was ever important to her unless it revolved around her or her sister’s perfect little world.

Instead, he was forced to look for his clothes by himself in her bedroom while rehashing to her the events of last night that he could remember, since she apparently couldn’t. She all but demanded it of him. At least he found some pleasure in remembering how fucking dumb she looked arguing with the bouncer…until she explained she had only thought she was stepping outside for a moment for air and could get back in.

In that regard, trying to help her had been the right course of action. He took some small solace in that, _not_ that it made up for everything else he’d had to endure from her afterwards. It certainly wasn’t going to erase this morning that was for sure.

 _God_ , would it seriously kill her to help him? He’d looked everywhere in here that he could think of.

He peeled up the bed skirt, feeling like a complete jackass on all fours, peering under her bed. Jesus, he hoped she wasn’t staring at his bare ass displayed rather indignantly, protruding high in the air as he swept his hand under the bed feeling for his pants…underwear…a sock… _any_ article of clothing that belonged to him.

Nothing.

He pulled himself up from the floor and plopped back down on the bed in defeat. “Not here.”

_Where the hell are my clothes?_

Anna only looked at him funny, proving she could have cared less about him finding his clothing. It was like she had no idea what he was even talking about it.

To make matters worse, his body did not enjoy the quick movement he’d made from the floor to the bed, and he winced in pain, rubbing his hand over a particularly sore spot on his shoulder. It was tender, like a bruise— _Was that a bruise?_ How the hell did he get a bruise there?

“God, I’m stiff this morning,” he said, only because he felt like he had to say _something._ The way Anna kept looking at him made him feel like he was being scrutinized. “I feel like I did four triathlons in a row—”

He froze, realizing that his memory of last night had finally run out shortly after being in her apartment. He remembered the peppermint patties and the polar bears, one gin and tonic—really heavy on the gin—

Panic welled up inside him when he could not recall anything else. He met her eye, willing her to believe him. “I don’t remember last night, like what we did once we got up here. All I know is that you can pour one hell of a drink. You’d be fired as a bartender pouring them like that.”

“I’ll remember that in the future,” she quipped dryly, her tone making him bristle and reminding him again that he really needed to get the fuck out of here.

What time was it anyway? Jesus, what if someone he knew saw him leaving her place? What if it was someone _they both knew,_ and from work? He’d never be able to live it down. It was bad enough he was here in the first place. And her circle of friends couldn’t stand him. Paranoia was beginning to set in. He tried to remember if she had a roommate or not. He didn’t think so…

She gestured to the bedroom door which was partially open. “Your clothes must be out there.”

Did she really expect him to go out of the bedroom by himself? Buck naked? Not knowing for sure if she lived with anyone else? _Wow. Real hospitable._ Not that any of her behaviour this morning indicated she’d act otherwise. She was not going to make this easy for him, was she?

With an annoyed growl, he grabbed the bedsheet and wrapped it around his hips like a towel, the excess fabric dragging along the floor behind him like some deranged train, and oh, _now_ she had decided to get up and follow him _._ Right out of the room like she was worried he’d rob her blind or something. He did roll his eyes then. As if Anna would ever have anything he’d want.

Her apartment was a mess. Anna was surprisingly not a very tidy person. He wrinkled his nose, taking in the books and papers strewn everywhere. It was as though she had no idea what a coffee table or countertop was for. _Christ…_ even the pictures on her wall were crooked. He took particular offense to that. She worked at a gallery for fuck’s sake. The least she could do was hang her home art properly.

He couldn’t really help himself from making a dig. He was in a foul mood, and her snide attitude was grating. He let out a low whistle. “It’s not my place to say, but you really ought to invest in a housekeeper.”

Anna lost it on him, her voice going high and shrill, boring into his skull like a jackhammer, and making him instantly regret ribbing her. Leave it to Anna to make one’s headache phenomenally _worse._

“It doesn’t normally look like this!” She shoved past him to pick up what he now realized was fruit on the floor. “What did you do to my home?”

 _Holy shit._ Hans surveyed the apartment again, looking at the destruction with new eyes. _Did we do this?_

He stared at a crooked painting, a vague memory of her shoving him up against the wall hard and nipping at his throat flittered through his mind, fleeting, like a dream.

_‘Don’t worry, I can handle it rough.’_

God, he hadn’t actually _said_ that to her last night, had he?

“Me?’ Hans answered automatically, feeling heat rush to his cheeks. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You spend one evening here, and look at this!” She waved her arms around the apartment, each erratic movement she made shifting his shirt she was wearing so that a bare shoulder would slip here, or a hint of breast would peek through the gaping collar there…and that was nothing to say for the hemline rising and falling along her thighs as she continued to pantomime, making him question whether or not she had underwear on. Her body was mesmerizing. “It looks like a tornado hit it!”

_Oh fuck._

The realization was as swift as a slap in the face. She was hot. Anna was hot.

Anna was not supposed to be hot.

_Or in your dress shirt._

Fuck.

He looked around wildly for a distraction, anything to tear his mind off of Anna, in his shirt, looking as hot as fucking hell before his body reacted properly to this discovery.

 _You do not like Anna,_ he scolded.

And there in the mid morning sun, he saw his salvation. Right there on the living room floor. A pile of clothes. _His_ clothes! He went immediately to retrieve them. Never so relieved to see a wrinkled undershirt in his life. He began to dress himself as quickly as possible. The discovery of another condom underneath his shirt, now exposed in the sunlight could hardly dampen his mood now that he was that much closer to leaving.

Though it did give him pause.

 _We did it right in the living room? With the curtains wide open?_ He glanced over to the large window, wondering if the apartment across the way had gotten a show. His whole body tingled as excitement crept up at the very idea. He was not normally so bold a lover and preferred privacy.

He licked his lips, suddenly finding himself feeling quite parched.

“It looks more like we had one hell of a night,” he blurted, the condom now in his hand. Anna looked horrified by this news.

_Right. She hates you._

But she still deserved to know how many times they’d had sex last night. It was only fair and decent.

He finished dressing, that urge to leave getting even stronger by the minute. Only now, he wasn’t sure if it was because with each found condom Anna was increasingly more hostile or if with each found condom, he was getting more curious about them.

Them, as in the condoms. Not _them_ as in he and Anna. No, he was definitely not interested in _them_ at all. There was no ‘ _them_ ’. Silly that he had to keep reminding himself of that.

He’d have to ask for his dress shirt back. It was almost a shame since she looked so perfect in it. _Stop it! She doesn’t look any hotter than any other woman would!_

He was almost ready to go, checking his pockets to make sure he had everything, pleased to find his wallet still there. He did not want to have to come back here. The idea of returning, made his stomach flutter anxiously. He inwardly groaned. His phone was missing, along with his ‘emergency’ condom—well, at least he knew where that was.

He checked the floor where his clothes had been, figuring his phone had simply slipped out of his pocket, but found nothing. He scanned the room carefully, keeping his eyes as sharp as he could with a hangover. The stress of his missing phone not helping his headache at all.

“I can’t find my phone.”

“Well, as you can see, I’m a little busy right now,” she griped back, not looking busy at all, and _why_ had he thought saying something to her would actually be helpful? _Because she looks good in your shirt. Because you want her over here, closer to you._

His cheeks flushed scarlet. He did _not_ want Anna. He didn’t even like her.

It did not matter that she had the most amazing sex hair, all wild and tangled, sticking up at funny angles that still managed to frame her face just right. Hair he had helped ‘style’ last night _._ And he didn’t care that his shirt looked tantalizing on her. _Or_ that the sun shone on her in just the right way that he could see the outline of her luscious, little body silhouetted in a tease against the fabric; making him wonder, yet again, if she was completely naked under that shirt. _His_ shirt.

Or that the way she moved in his clothes was somehow so achingly perfect. Like she was right at home in his button down and wore it all the time. That seeing her like this, he could imagine them both sitting and laughing over morning coffee at her little dining table, her foot playfully grazing his calf, looking at him with a sultry gaze—

He swallowed hard. What is _wrong_ with you? That is Anna. _You do not like Anna._

_God, you get laid for the first time in a year and look at you! You’re such an idiot. Find your god damn phone and leave already!_

The couch! Yes! It might have fallen in the cushions when they were…if they had… He cleared his throat uncomfortably. That steady little thrum of heat returning and slipping quickly below his belt. He began to madly search the couch, desperate to stop the swell of desire that was rising up. _Don’t think about it—_

“Son of a bitch!” Anna hollered from the kitchenette, finding another condom. This one on the countertop.

Countertop…fruit on the floor…it didn’t take a rocket scientist.

His pulse raced. “We did it on your counter top?” _God,_ he’d always wanted to try that. It was one of his biggest fantasies, and one that had never gotten any real-time play. _Due to your shitty love life._ Until, of course, last night. And he didn’t even remember it! He quickly turned his head away so she wouldn’t see the probably stupid look on his face at this news. He’d had sex on a countertop!

 _Find your phone and leave. Now!_ his brain warned again. Easier to do if he could at least concentrate, quell the pounding headache, focus.

“You know,” he began as nonchalantly as he could, sliding his hand along the crevices of the couch frame, dismayed not to feel the flat, rectangular shape of his phone, “I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee and some Tylenol, if you’ve got it.”

He didn’t think it was that unreasonable of a request. Surely, she wanted those things too? And until he found his phone, he wasn’t planning on leaving.

“There’s a great convenience store down on the corner.” She was always so acidic, even when he was trying to be polite, decent.

“And you’ve got a French press sitting right there,” he replied, his patience running thin. It didn’t matter what he did. He was always going to be The Worst to her, wasn’t he? A title he didn’t even think he quite deserved. The only reason they really hated each other so vehemently now was because they had actually really liked one another once.

_Eugh, don’t think about that now._

To his absolute surprise, Anna did the unthinkable. She began to pull out a bag of coffee beans. She was seriously going to make them coffee. The first real peace gesture she had given him all morning. He returned his attention to the couch, continuing his search, this time to the floor, looking underneath the couch frame.

And there it was, underneath and way at the back. His phone.

_Finally!_

How it ended up there in the first place was yet another mystery, but he’d found his phone. He sat down on the couch, unlocking the screen to check the time, wondering if there was a bus stop near by or if he’d have to call a cab.

Only his phone unlocked to the camera. He frowned.

A lump began to form in his throat. On the camera screen was a still of Anna in her little black party dress, clearly in front of her kitchen island. A play button smack dab in the middle.

Hans stared at the screen. Swallowing hard. _Oh God._

They had _not_ recorded it. He would not have done that. He prided himself on being a gentleman. Respectable. He was not a creep that did things like that. And yet, there was Anna, on his phone. Evidence of what had happened last night. Answers they both didn’t have, sitting right here in his hand.

“Umm…Anna?” he called softly.

“What?” She sounded annoyed, and he realized he was cringing.

“There’s a video…from last night.”

She slowly put the bag of coffee beans she’d been holding down on the counter, and came to sit beside him. Unease in her tone. “Play it.”

He sucked in a deep breath and hit play. Relief washing over him in waves when it turned out they had been trying to record her singing, and _not_ a strip tease or something, like he had feared. He was giggling like a jackass on the audio. _Giggling._ How many more shots had he had by that point, or was that just after his last drink? He couldn’t remember. Hating that he didn’t recognize anything on the video, even the sound of himself.

A steady pulse of heat coursed through him as he watched the Anna on the screen saunter closer into the frame, making her way towards him. He recognized that look in her eye, his chest going tight. _Desire._ She had wanted him. While he was giggling like an idiot and all. He cringed hearing himself on the audio try and sound suave, sexy, as she climbed onto his lap.

He swallowed. Hard.

Knowing exactly where this was going, his face went hot watching. Thankfully, there wasn’t much of anything to see for long. In his stupidly drunk and aroused state, he’d dropped the phone. The screen was now just a recording of the ceiling. _Good._ He didn’t think he could handle the visuals sitting here beside Anna the morning after.

The audio, however, played clear as a bell as Anna proceeded to go down on him in the video. He was heard excitedly responding in kind to her rather enthusiastic efforts. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to suppress his growing arousal.

But all he could think of was the countless peppermint patties and polar bears they had done. How minty and cool her mouth must have been when she—

His onscreen self let out a loud, uninhibited moan. And another. And another. And suddenly, he was making a whole host of sounds he did not usually make…at least, he didn’t think he usually made sounds like _that._

_Jesus fucking Christ! Is that really what I sound like?_

He swallowed hard, acute mortification sinking in hearing himself so intimately and exposed. Raw and real with no pretenses, completely candid; knowing that Anna could hear him too, and that there was no hiding it. That on the video, there was definitive proof that he was thoroughly enjoying her sucking him off as though he’d never received head before in his whole goddamned life. Proof that she was quite possibly giving him the best blow job he’d ever had.

_You sound exactly like a guy who hasn’t been fucked in well over a year, and now she can hear it too._

His entire body went tense, his fingers aching against the edges of his phone as he gripped it so tight, trying to keep himself composed. Trying not to get unbearably aroused. Trying to ignore that the crotch of his trousers was as tight as hell. Trying to forget that he knew Anna was glancing over at him, watching him as he listened to himself in the throws of a wanton passion she helmed, and pretending he wasn’t affected by it. By any of it.

He’d never been more embarrassed. His onscreen self continued on making the neediest, hungriest, most desperate sex noises, all with increasing volume and intensity until he was coming like a hurricane. Like the fucking end was nigh.

When it was over, they both sat in complete and utter shocked silence.

He wanted to crawl into a hole and die, knowing she had heard it all too. He hit delete as soon as the video ended. If he didn’t, he swore he couldn’t trust himself _not_ to go home and listen to it again, and again, alone. In private.

He needed to get the hell out of here—away from her—

And before he even knew what he was doing, he was bolting from his seat, rambling like an idiot, asking for her bathroom. She directed him, and he shot off like a rocket. The bathroom a sanctuary where he could have a few moments alone to get his bearings, compose himself properly.

He went to the sink and turned the tap on to the coldest he could stand. Splashing his face several times until his cheeks had cooled and his raging hard on had calmed the fuck down. He fumbled blindly for the nearby hand towel, and dried himself off.

Finally, calm and pulse back to normal. He went to hang the towel back up and froze, coming face to face with a framed print on the wall.

His chest went tight, recognizing the piece instantly.

It was one of his.

One of the gallery gift shop prints. A recent addition too. Not one he’d done years ago when they had been—

He gulped.

She owned one of his new prints. Had it framed, and on her wall. Even though she was supposed to hate him.

_She still likes your work._

Definitely time to leave.

He pushed the bathroom door open, and proceeded to ask her for his shirt back. Her face went bright red, and it occurred to him that she actually had no idea she had even been wearing his clothes. A small ache crept up in his heart.

_She never wanted you here._

He thought about leaving while she went to change. Screw the shirt, this morning had been a disaster, a humiliation of a lifetime. But she changed quite fast, and was back in front of him, handing him his shirt and seeing him to the door, an awkward silence between them.

What was he supposed to say to a woman he had never planned to sleep with? A woman he had been very adamantly telling himself for years he didn’t like?

“I won’t say anything about it,” he said, deciding that reassuring her that he wasn’t going blab was the best thing to say in this moment. “Once I’m out the door, it never happened.”

She gave a tight smile, hugging her arms. “Yeah.”

He took a deep breath. Understanding that it was officially over. Neither would ever speak of this again. “Okay…well, see you around.”

“Bye.”

She closed the door.

And just like that, Hans was on his way down the hall, numb and quiet, pulling out his phone as he trotted down the stairwell to the main floor as quickly as possible. Pretending he didn’t feel it, but no matter how hard he tried, it didn’t feel like it had never happened. Not at all. Saying it and believing it were two different things. No one else knew it had happened, but he did.

He’d made it to the main entrance of her building, and across the street he saw a bus stop. _Thank God,_ he did not want to have to linger here for a cab. That’s what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. When he reached the bus stop, he turned his phone on, intending to kill time scrolling his apps.

The minute he opened his Instagram, it was there, top of his feed. The photo Anna had taken of them last night in the cab. It was a pretty good picture. A small smile crept over his face as he looked at her, her face shining, and lips slightly swollen from their kiss minutes before the photo. _God,_ she was pretty.

He shifted his gaze to himself in the photo, a small pang in his chest. He looked happy with her. So goddamned happy. The little crinkles around his eyes and bewildered smile. He didn’t think he ever looked genuine in his photos anymore, and here was one where he was obviously elated.

_You like her._

He even chuckled out loud, reading her cheeky caption. ‘Starting the New Year with a Bang!’, she’d written, followed by innocently lewd emojis. Had she known then that they were going to fuck, or had it simply been a drunken joke she’d thought sounded clever? He’d never know, but he liked to think she had decided it with that kiss.

_You really like her._

It had tons of comments on it, and Hans remembered in an instant that no matter how happy he looked, no one else would care. Least of all her friends list. He knew he shouldn’t read the comments, but if people took it seriously…well, then everyone would know they’d hooked up. And neither of them wanted that.

His mood dipped scrolling the comments, many unpleasant responses he expected to see, like the ones from Elsa thoroughly shocked and disgusted, but he scowled seeing a comment from Kristoff.

_Kristoff: What the hell, Anna!?_

Even the guy from The Reindeer Kings had a shitty opinion of him? He didn’t even know that guy!

He’d have to play damage control, hopefully nipping this in the bud before Anna had to deal with any of it.

Seriously. He knew he wasn’t well liked in her circle, but really?

 _God, it was just a stupid joke,_ he typed. _Calm the fuck down. We shared a cab. That’s it._

His direct message dinged almost immediately. Anna.

_‘Thnx for the save’_

His heart skipped an unexpected beat seeing her respond and so quickly. He responded back, trying to keep the surge of excitement he’d felt seeing her name in his DMs down.

_‘No problem’_

He hated how he watched the screen, eagerly, holding his breath, hoping against hope that there would be more from her. Reminding himself that she had no reason to. _She’s probably just being polite._

But another message popped up on his screen.

_‘Hey, you wanna grab a coffee?’_

He felt giddy, rereading the message over and over, trying to convince himself that it was not what he thought it was, that she was not inviting him out. A wealth of emotions passed through him, anxiety, excitement, desire…

He decided on his response, opting to dare and flirt with her, his heart hammering in his chest, his fingers trembling as he typed. Praying she got the joke, the reference.

_‘Sure... I hear there’s a great convenience store on the corner.’_

Her answer came swift.

_‘I have a French press.’_

He stared at the screen, scarcely able to believe it. A bolt of pleasure jolting through him.

_Fuck. Me._

_She’s flirting back._

_She likes you._

And before he even knew what he was doing, he was running. Full speed running like a fool all the way back to her apartment building. Passing startled people watching him in confusion. And he couldn’t have cared less how stupid he looked.

He slammed her buzzer like a mad man, nearly coming undone at how quickly the main door had opened. She had to have been waiting there at her buzzer, waiting for _him._ Ready to let him back in. He ran all the way back up the stairwell, breathless by the time he reached her door, and knocked.

She opened the door and he lost his nerve, feeling awkward and stupid, his face flushed red.

“Hi,” he panted, leaning on the door frame for support.

“Hi,” she answered, suddenly looking shy, a near impossible feat with her hair still tousled and unruly.

He could smell the scent of coffee wafting out of her apartment, but they both knew that wasn’t really why he was here.

He wanted her back in his shirt, and by the way she grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and back into her apartment, she wanted him back in her bed.


End file.
